


You spin my head (right round)

by boybeaulieu



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Step Up Revolution au, ballet dancer Laurent, street dancer Damen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boybeaulieu/pseuds/boybeaulieu
Summary: They tell him his moves are perfect, they tell him he’s on time and graceful. They tell him his technique is flawless, but, still, there’s something missing. He’s not dancing with his heart, he’s not letting go.orThe Step Up AU where Laurent wants a place at Defleur Academy with all his heart and he’s not above dancing with some street crew to get it. He’s also not above writhing against Akielon Adonis’ chest, but that’s just how it all starts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve had this in mind for a while and finally got down to writing it. It’s totally self indulgent and light and happy and the regent never even existed. That being said, I know nothing about dancing so please bear with me.  
> Enjoy!

It’s hot in Akielos, far more than he’s used to and it makes practicing an absolute hell. His father wants to expand, though, and all it took Auguste to convince him to go with them was a pair of puppy eyes because _I’ll be alone, Laurent, I’ll be so bored_. At least there is one positive thing about this whole ordeal, Delfeur’s branch here in Ios has opened doors for auditions, the one in Arles was at full capacity. They call it Delpha here, these barbarians, as if it wasn’t Madame Bellerose who founded it, a Veretian. As if it’s not the most renowned and awarded dance academy in the whole Artesean empire. Laurent, well, he’s been dreaming of Defleur his whole life, since he was four and his mother took him to his first ballet lesson. Needless to say he needs to get in, he needs to be absolutely perfect and remarkable, and in order to do so he needs to practice every time he has the chance, when he’s not whisked away by his father and his associates.

The first thing about Aleron is that he’s stubborn and pushy and doesn’t seem to recognise a lost battle when he sees one, he doesn’t understand that Laurent will never go into the business if he can help it. Auguste is the perfect candidate and the perfect son, Laurent is under no illusion that he’d be even allowed to compete for CEO if he were to accept his father’s offer and he wouldn’t even want to. Auguste has been working towards the position his whole life, it’s where he dreams to be and no one could be better suited than him. Laurent knows enough about dreams to recognise the sheer determination in his brother’s eyes. The second thing about Aleron is that he hates Laurent. How many times did Auguste tell him that it was all in his head, that father loved Laurent no less than he did him. Whatever, Laurent has been living under his roof for twenty years, he knows he won’t ever be enough in his father’s eyes. His mother, on the contrary... she was his compass, his strength, his fuel. He still has Auguste, but his mother’s death left a gaping hole in his heart and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fill it. Dancing helps, dancing always helps. If it were for him, Laurent would never stop. It reminds him of her, she used to be a ballerina, insanely talented and insanely beautiful. What she saw in his father, Laurent has no idea.

Complaining won’t help, though. He’s here in Ios and he’ll have to stay for the whole summer, he can only hope his father will leave him be for the most part so that he can concentrate on practicing. The audition is in a week, his stomach clenches at the simple thought of it, but Laurent isn’t someone who lets his emotions affect his actions. So, he takes a deep breath, clears his mind of all thoughts and picks his routine up from the beginning.

***

He doesn’t know why he agreed to come to this beach party with Auguste, it must have something to do with the fact that his brother has been working all week while Laurent has been doing what he loves the most in the world. It must have something to do with guilt. Well, he’s here now, he’ll stay for a hour maximum and then go back to the dance studio. This isn’t really his scene, but he’s willing to bear it as long as Auguste’s happy. The party is at one of Étoile Industries Hotels, of course, Laurent hates it already.

“Hey, Laurent, do you want to drink something?”

He levels his brother with a glare, but it only serves to make Auguste laugh.

“Oh, come on, it’s a party!” Insists his brother.

“Just be grateful I’m here at all, don’t push it.” Snaps Laurent, although there’s no heat behind his words. Auguste smiles, he just smiles.

“I know, thank you for coming. If you don’t want anything to drink for yourself, though, maybe you could get _me_ something while I try to woo that beautiful woman over there.”

He points to an objectively attractive, dark skinned woman laughing with her friends a few feet over. Laurent sighs, he knows Auguste can be stubborn, after all they _are_ brothers.

“Fine, but I honestly hope she doesn’t want anything to do with you!”

With that, he turns around and starts walking towards the bar, Auguste’s laugh echoes behind him. He knows why his brother sent him there, the bar is so crowded it’s almost impossible to reach the counter and even when Laurent manages to get there, no barman gives him any attention. Jesus Christ, he could have them all fired and they keep serving everyone except him. After a few more minutes of useless shouting he decides he’s done waiting, this place belongs to his family, this is basically his alcohol. With those thoughts in mind, he climbs over the counter and decides to serve himself. Incredibly, no one notices.

“Excuse me.” Calls someone, it takes Laurent a few seconds to realise they’re talking to him. He’s huge, the guy is literally huge. All bulging muscles and towering height, a stupid vest that leaves nothing to the imagination and shorts that hug his a-

“Can I have a beer please?”

Oh. _Oh_ , he thinks Laurent is a fucking barman. His father owns the entire resort and this giant animal thinks Laurent is a _barman_. This could be fun, though, Laurent doesn’t need much to have fun these days. Plus, he loves deception.

“Sure.” He replies with a saccharine smile, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice the edge in his words and gives a big smile of his own. Straight white teeth and a- is that a dimple? Laurent is starting to think this man will cause problems to his own integrity.

“Thanks,” he says when Laurent hands him his drink, “can I buy one for you too?”

“No.”

The reply is automatic, quick, a courtesy of many years of people trying to get into Laurent’s pants with little more than human decency. This man, though, he smiles again as if that’s just something he does, smiling. Auguste is the only person who’s able to make Laurent smile, cat videos can do that too, but they don’t count.

“Something else, then.”

Laurent doesn’t answer right away, this time. He pretends to actually think about it before turning his glacial eyes on the man and simply saying: “no.”

“Oh, okay.” Says the man and he sounds -disappointed, almost. “Well, how about a dance?”

Now, Laurent can’t help but roll his eyes. A dance. There is no way he is going to dance with a stranger to this kind of music, all beat and dumb, overly sexual lyrics. God, no. If she were alive, his mother would kill him for even thinking about it. He’s not, by the way. Thinking about it. Especially not when the man shrugs and gives him a resigned grimace, as if it’s _Laurent’s_ loss. He abandons his orange juice and downs a shot of whatever it is that the guy to his left ordered. He’s bewildered, but Laurent refills him quickly before finally leaving the bar and going back to Auguste as if nothing really happened.

The next hour goes by smoothly and Laurent finds himself quite tipsy, well, maybe more than tipsy. A bit drunk. Auguste is shocked, he keeps giving Laurent these looks and he just won’t stop trying to take his glass away from him. The thing is, Laurent spent his life listening to people call him a cast iron bitch. It started in high school when he kept turning down boys and girls so, of course, said boys and girls started saying he was a prude, as if it was a _fault_. The thing degenerated from there, Laurent wouldn’t put out so it must have meant he had something to hide, maybe he was gross down there, maybe he had a disease. Maybe he really was a girl, what with the long hair and almost androgynous features. He heard it all, even the things he wasn’t meant to, like Jackson what’s-his-name proudly declaring to the football team how he’d managed to fuck Laurent under the bleachers after their last game. Of course, once Laurent was done with him, he never dared even look at him again. Laurent thinks that served as some kind of example, because people stopped trying to sleep with him and the rumours got even wilder. That’s when Mike Young called him a cast iron bitch for the first time, the rest is history.

So, Laurent is well aware that he’s pretty much drunker than he’s ever been and he’s well aware that it’s because his stupid (stupid!) subconscious got mad at Laurent himself when he turned down that Akielon Adonis. Yes, the fact that he called him an adonis is telling enough. Laurent is also aware that thinking about his high school struggles will only make him want to prove those dumbasses wrong, never mind he hasn’t seen any of them in two years. What he decides to do, despite this newfound -never lost, actually- awareness, is give into his insecurities. Stupid, right? Stupid enough that he thrusts his drink into Auguste’s hands and takes off to the ‘dance floor’. It’s not an actual floor, obviously, they’re on the beach. People are being disgusting and dancing off beat, so horribly that it makes Laurent cringe, but he only has eyes for someone and that someone is probably the only person with any sense of rhythm in the crowd. He’s right in the centre and easily spotted, he’s like the sun and all these people float around him, trying to keep up with him because damn, he can dance. This has suddenly become slightly more interesting, more problematic if Laurent wants to be honest.

He elbows his way through the crowd, he’s starting to feel the music, really feel it. It’s this buzzing that makes his heart rate speed up and his blood pump steadily, it’s the thrill. He knows if he starts moving, he won’t stop. It’s in his feet, first. Then, it climbs up his legs and pools in his stomach and rises, rises to his chest and falls, falls down his arms. He’s dancing. He’s right there in the middle of a drunken crowd, dancing to the kind of music he hates (or pretends to) and he doesn’t have a care in the world, except, he does have one care and that care is still showing off dancing with a girl right besides the shower, in a fortunate patch of people-free sand. Everybody’s watching him. Laurent decides that the girl can’t keep up. Laurent also decides that he should show them all what he’s made of. That he should show Akielon Adonis that it’s not Laurent’s loss, it’s his. He didn’t realise it before, his focus was solely on that show off with his hands all over the girl, but now he can see that people have started noticing him. They’re giving him space, as if saying: “go on, we want to see you.” Now, Laurent knows he’s good, he’s not modest, but he’s good at dancing to Tchaikovsky, not fucking Flo Rida. Nevertheless, he must be doing something good because these people are shouting at him and encouraging him and slowly pushing him towards Akielon Adonis.

They’re close now, and the man only has eyes for Laurent. If he were in his right mind, he would probably blush but something tells him that his whole face is already flushed thanks to the alcohol and the dancing. God, he must look awful. Except, maybe he doesn’t, because Akielon Adonis can’t keep his eyes off of him.

“I thought you didn’t dance.” Shouts the man, he’s a bit sweaty and he’s breathing hard, but he’s still kind of dancing as he waits for Laurent to respond.

“I said I wouldn’t dance with _you_.” Bites back Laurent, of course Akielon Adonis simply laughs, as if Laurent is _endearing_.

“Why not?” He shouts again as he takes a step forward with the pretence of being heard over the music. They’re very close now. Very, very close. Laurent swallows, the alcohol is clouding his thoughts, it’s making him loose and warm. He really wants to dance.

“Because I wouldn’t dance with someone who has no sense of rhythm.” He snaps, head held up high and lips pursed. He feels like a ten year-old.

“You think I can’t dance?” Asks Akielon Adonis, his eyes are wide and his eyebrows are raised. He looks surprised and bit offended.

“It certainly looks like it.”

Akielon Adonis says nothing and watches him for a long time, then his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Is this a challenge?” He asks. Laurent knows it’s not, he knows he would never challenge a guy like him to a dance off in the middle of a drunken crowd when they’re wearing nothing but swimwear and the music is just -filthy. So, of course, he says: “yes.”

The music is just a background, a helpful _thud thud_ that keeps them in time. He registers it uncaringly, keeps it at the back of his mind because the only thing at the forefront is Damen’s hands on his waist. That’s his name, Damen, he shouted it before accepting the challenge, as if it changed something. It doesn’t, Laurent is just as ruthless as he meant to be and he’s going to win. The only problem is that this -thing they’re doing is degenerating. They’re not dancing to win, not with the way Damen is running his hands down Laurent’s body, not with the way Laurent is plastering himself all over those muscles. No -no, he needs to put a stop to this. He needs to get away but he just can’t. Not when they’re moving so perfectly, not when Damen just knows what move Laurent is going to pull next and is already there, ready to catch him and spin him and hold him. It’s over all too soon, both on their knees, close, their faces inches apart, and the water from the shower pouring down their heated bodies. It’s a shock, it’s what Laurent needs to realise that he’s just danced like _that_ with a stranger. Oh God, he’s such and idiot, he’s also drunk.

He shots to his feet and shakes Damen’s hands off him. He manages to find Auguste’s face in the crowd, there’s an odd expression on his features but as soon as he sees Laurent’s panic he shifts into his big brother mode and starts elbowing his way through the crowd. Laurent is stunned, a bit frozen on the spot but Auguste, ever the rescuer, is by his side in a matter of seconds. He shoves past Damen and slides an arm over Laurent’s shoulders, dragging him away. Distantly, Laurent hears someone shout.

“Wait! Who even are you?”

***

His audition goes horribly. Ballet is his thing, he’s more than great at it. Contemporary, on the other hand, is his weakness. They tell him his moves are perfect, they tell him he’s on time and graceful. They tell him his technique is flawless, but, still, there’s something missing. He’s not dancing with his heart, he’s not letting go. He should be having fun, he’s too stiff, he’s too stuck up.

“You have so much potential, Mr. Étoile. That’s why I’m willing to give you another chance.”

“But it’s just contemporary.” Protests Laurent, his breathing is still ragged from exertion. The woman looks at him for a few seconds before her lips spread in a grimace, her eyes turn disappointed. Laurent swallows.

“Maybe another chance is not a good idea.”

At that, Laurent’s heart jumps. He can’t lose this, he can’t disappoint Auguste and his mother, let his father win. Disappoint himself.

“No, I promise I can be better.”

The woman shakes her head, and goes back to the papers scattered on the table, as if she’s not crushing all of Laurent’s hopes and dreams with a few words.

“Goodbye, Mr. Étoile.”

For a moment, Laurent thinks it’s a joke. He stays standing there, dumbfounded, waiting for the woman to lift her head up and tell him she was messing with him. She doesn’t. Laurent thinks about his mother, about the old cassette he used to watch for hours on end, the one where she’s dancing Swan Lake. Then, he thinks about Auguste, about all the times he raised his voice and fought his father just to give Laurent a chance to follow his dream. Lastly, he thinks about himself. He thinks about the way he feels when he’s alone and dancing, thoughtless, light... happy.

“Look,” he starts, “I know what I said was stupid and I know I can’t -easily let go, but dancing is my life. Dancing is the only thing I care about, I’ve sacrificed so much to be here today so, please, let me have another chance.”

It feels so out of character, begging. Laurent is not someone who begs, Laurent is someone who keeps is head high and looks down on people and always has a back up plan. This time, he doesn’t. The woman’s eyes snap to him, though, and she gives him an assessing look. Laurent’s heart is beating wildly, he’s distantly aware of the last people in the room chatting and laughing. He thinks he might have stopped breathing. Then, the woman speaks.

“Fine, one last chance. The last round of auditions will be at the end of the summer, we’ll add your name to the list. You can go now.”

Laurent exhales.

“Thank you so much, thank you.” He says as he starts walking to the exit. There’s this feeling in his chest, this relief mixed with euphoria and something scarily close to anxiety, but at least not everything is lost.

“And Laurent,” calls the woman as he’s about to open the door, “you’ll have to dance with your heart, not your head.”

***

They’re having a family dinner, which means Aleron is talking to Auguste about business and Laurent is bored half to death. At least his father hasn’t tried to bring up Laurent’s failed audition, although something tells him it won’t be long before he approaches the topic. The terrace is beautiful, at least, if there’s one thing he can’t deny about his father is that Aleron has good taste. The hotel is a pristine, modern looking building at the edge of Ios’ famous cliffs. The view from the terrace is amazing, the blues and silvers of the sea are a sight to behold, especially on a night like this, when the moon is full and resplendent. It’s magical, Laurent only wishes he could enjoy it, instead he’s been forced into a perfectly tailored suit and a conversation about a topic he loathes. Laurent is so lost in boredom that he almost startles when the waiter asks for their order. It’s Auguste who recognises him first, Laurent sees his eyes go wide and his lips part in surprise and that’s when he turns his gaze over to the man standing by their table. It’s Akielon Adonis. It’s Damen, the man whose chest he’s withered against, the man whose _crotch_ he’s shaken his _ass_ against like a fifteen year-old at his first party. Jesus. Damen hasn’t noticed him yet, which means he hasn’t noticed Laurent’s shock and he has time to school his features into blankness.

“And I’ll have the scampi.”

Damen had been pouring water into his glass when he heard Laurent’s words and lifted his eyes, which is why the next thing he knows Laurent’s pants are drenched in water.

“Fuck.” He hisses, his chair screeches as he pushes it back. His father gasps, Auguste hides a smile behind his glass. Damen still hasn’t moved, he’s looking at him as if he’s seeing a ghost.

“Wait, aren’t you-“ He starts, but Laurent is quick to shut him up.

“Do you mind?” He squeaks, gesturing to his damp pants. Damen doesn’t finish his sentence and silence stretches, uncomfortable. It all happens quickly, then. First Damen is staring at him with confusion, a moment later he’s on his knees with a cloth in his hand and a playful smile on his lips.

“Of course.” He says and starts patting the cloth all over Laurent’s crotch.

Fuck.

Auguste can’t keep his snort muffled, Aleron can’t keep his eyes from bulging out of their sockets and Laurent -well, Laurent can’t keep his breath from hitching. It takes him a few seconds to grab ahold of himself, seeing Damen on his knees before him brought back memories of their last encounter. Of theirs bodies pressed together, sweat and water and sand clinging to them like a second skin. Their breaths mingling as they kneeled together under the spray of the shower, Damen’s muscles firm and slick under his hands, their chests heaving-

“Stop -stop, it’s fine.” Stutters Laurent as his tries to shoo Damen’s hands with his own. He sees his smile widen, mirth dancing in his deep brown eyes.

“Of course.” He says, again. Before he straightens back up and finally, finally leaves Laurent alone, one of his hands finds its way into Laurent’s pocket and a rigid, rectangular piece of paper is pressed to his thigh. He looks up at Laurent, then -so fucking handsome Laurent can hardly believe it- and whispers: “come see us.”

Then, he’s gone.

That night, when he’s back in his room and the stress of the evening dissipates along with his brother’s teasing and his father’s somehow disapproving eyes, Laurent dares take out of his pocket that business card. It’s plain and black, bold white letters recite ‘Lions Crew’. Laurent turns it over between his fingers and finds a date and address written on the back, he recognises it as one of the most famous art galleries in Ios, he’s been there just a few days ago to attend a friend of Auguste’s exposition. Why the hell would Damen give him this, is he some kind of artist? Who are those ‘us’ he mentioned? The only thing that comes to Laurent’s mind is to look up their name on the internet.

Too many links come up after he hits the send button, after all ‘Lions’ isn’t exactly a creative name. It’s when he starts looking through the videos section that he finds something interesting. There’s a YouTube channel titled exactly ‘The Lions Crew’ and their bio explains that they’re an Ios based dance crew, competing in some sort of contest for the most seen video. It’s plausible, Damen is a good dancer as much as Laurent hates to admit it. Of course, Ios is a capital and there could be dozens of Lions Crews around, but as Laurent squints to see the still of one of their videos, he finds that there’s a very tall, very beefy, olive skinned guy caught mid-move. Someone who might easily be Damen. He clicks on the video.

It’s him, there’s no doubt. The man is Damen and him and his crew are dancing on top of fucking cars. They’re in the middle of traffic and they’re jumping on top of taxis. As much as Laurent would like to scoff at their style and antics, he can’t help but admit that their choreography is kind of good. Okay, maybe it’s more than good, maybe it’s even great. Their bodies are perfectly synchronised, their moves are timed and the contrast between each of their styles is pretty amazing. They all manage to look unique and a team at the same time, they keep their individuality even though they work perfectly as a whole. Each of them the gear of a perfectly functioning machine. What strikes him the most, though, is how easily their emotions transpire. They’re dancing with their hearts, not their heads. Laurent decides to keep the card.

***

He doesn’t ask Auguste to go with him, something tells him he’ll want to be alone this time. He’s dressed to the nines, as always, perfectly fitted dress pants and a candid shirt left unbuttoned at the top. (They’re in Akielos, not even cast iron bitch Laurent Étoile can stand the heat). His long hair is brushed and braided, his poor excuse for a beard shaved. He fits in here, among pretentious people with their pretentious clothes and pretentious views on art, he also hates it. There’s no trace of Damen, nor any of the people featured in the numerous videos Laurent has spent the last few days watching obsessively, not that he’d ever admit that. Everything is calm, classical music floats in the air and everybody tries their best not to look bored.

There’s a painting Laurent quite likes, all bright, warm colours and abstract lines. It occupies almost the entire wall of one of the rooms and there aren’t many people admiring it, he decides to get closer. That’s when he sees it, an almost imperceptible movement coming from -from the middle of the painting. He must have imagined it. Just as he’s about to dismiss it as the result of a too light dinner, the music stops abruptly. There’s a few seconds of silence, then something more upbeat and modern starts to play and the painting comes to life. So do the statues and the projections on the walls and the other paintings and, suddenly, all of these people who have been camouflaging for the whole time start _dancing_.

Laurent is in awe. It’s the Lions Crew and they are unbelievably good, the way they move, their costumes, the suggestiveness of the location... everything looks magical and inspiring. As Laurent walks from room to room, trying to follow all of their choreographies, he realises that this is what he needs, these people are doing exactly what he can’t: they’re letting go. He comes face to face with the man himself and Damen wastes no time before taking Laurent’s hand and dragging him to yet another room, this one is completely dark. Then, small, old style televisions start glowing and projecting lines of light on the walls, illuminating objects and people alike.

The entire crew is there, Damen leaves Laurent standing in the entrance and joins their ranks right in the middle, where a leader should be. Of course, Damen can dance. Laurent knew this already, he knew it when he saw him with the girl and he knew it when it was _him_ dancing with Akielon Adonis, when they’d synchronised and just -hit it off. When, for the first time since he was a child, Laurent danced without a care, following his limbs and his heart. Seeing Damen now, fully clothed and so comfortable between his people, is another experience entirely. Laurent couldn’t deny his abilities at the party, but right now, performing a real choreography that has been clearly well though out and rehearsed, Damen looks professional. Still, he manages to keep that carefree attitude that Laurent secretly (very, very secretly) envies him. That is probably the reason why he stays until the end, watching the Lions in amazement until the music stops and sirens start resounding on the outside.

“Did you like it?” Asks Damen, out of breath and sweaty and so incredibly _alive_. His crew has started spreading out and fleeing the gallery, cops just entered the building. Through it all, through the chaos and the angry shouts of people who clearly do not know how to appreciate art, Damen is here in front of Laurent asking for his opinion of all things.

“You should go,” he replies, “or they’ll arrest you.”

Damen smiles, big and endeared and Laurent kind of hates that this big, beefy, hip-hop-or-whatever dancer can see right through him.

“So? Did you like it?”

Laurent sighs, who in their right mind would risk so much just to ask a stupid question like that? Damen, that’s who. It also shouldn’t spark this feeling inside Laurent’s belly and it definitely shouldn’t make him nod earnestly like he does. Damen smiles again, even bigger if that’s possible.

“I gotta go, but you can call me.” He says and presses another piece of paper in Laurent’s hands. It’s got to be his number, Laurent accepts it reflexively as his usual retorts and excuses seem to all die in his throat. Damen is about to leave when Laurent finds himself holding onto his sleeve. What the hell is he even doing? The man turns around, surprised, and Laurent decides he should just go for it.

“I want to be part of your crew.” He blurts out. Damen’s eyes widen, his expression shifts into something Laurent can’t easily decipher. It’s annoying. Then, he nods, once.

“The warehouse on Main, tomorrow, 2 pm. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Laurent changes his mind a total of five times before deciding he is too proud not to show up at the warehouse. He doesn’t really understand what possessed him the night before, was it the ethereal performance? Was it, God forbid, Damen’s hopeful smile? He doesn’t care, not when he’s standing here in front of the building and can’t help but feel a bit out of place. He doesn’t belong with these people, he’s made for dancing The Nutcracker, not for breaking into art galleries to cause a scene and inspire indignation. Except, it’s not really that thought that bothers him and he’s well aware of it. What kind of (really, really) scares him, is that his strategy might not work. He wants to learn from these people how to let go, but what if it’s not enough? What if he fails another audition and realises that he isn’t really made for dancing the Nutcracker?

It’s overwhelming, this feeling that’s quickly spreading through his whole body, this feeling of rejection and he suddenly feels so small and he’s nothing but a disappointment and-

“There you are.” Says Damen, right in front of him. Laurent hadn’t even noticed him approaching. “We’ve been waiting for you, come in.”

There’s no time to dwell on those dark thoughts anymore, Laurent has people to impress and a father to prove wrong. He follows Damen up a flight of stairs and finds himself in a spacious room, windows with no actual glass and grey, concrete walls. The people waiting for him are exactly those he’s seen dancing numerous times already, be it on screen or in person. And they all have their eyes on him. They’re giving him odd looks, but Laurent didn’t expect anything less, he’s dealt with bullies before, he knows how to hold his own. So, he straightens up, lifts his chin and gives them all a slow once over. _You don’t scare me_. He meant to look intimidating but the only reaction he gets is a snort from a dark haired woman and a smirk from a man that looks suspiciously Veretian.

“Everyone, this is Laurent. He’s here to -well, audition I guess.”

The word makes something unpleasant twist in Laurent’s chest, but he’s quick to recover.

“Laurent, this is everyone.” Continues Damen, “the girls are Halvik and Vannes, Halvik is what you’d call an expert on tribal dances and Vannes is -well, she’s kind of our resident Britney. Then there’s Pallas, he dances best upside down and I’m not joking. Lazar, playboy on and off the dance floor. Aktis, we call him ‘liquid feet’, you’ll understand. Kastor, my brother, DJ and technician for our exhibitions and, finally, Jokaste. Jo’s her stage name, she’s one of the best hip-hop dancers in Akielos.”

Laurent, who’s been scrutinising each and every one of them as Damen blubbered on, suddenly feels a bit intimidated. He’s Laurent Étoile, he doesn’t have ‘liquid feet’ or whatever the hell these people think is cool. He’s poised and he’s graceful and he’s a fucking ballerina. This is going to be harder than he thought, but never let it be said that Laurent Étoile doesn’t accept a challenge. He’ll show them just who it is that they’re dealing with. He might not be able to twerk but he can stand on the tip of his toes for more than two hours.

“That means the only one who’s missing is-“

The door swings open behind them and another tall, well-muscled, olive skinned man enters the room.

“I’m late, yes, I know. Also, I’ve been fucking fired by that shit head Aleron Étoile. Who does he think he is? I was two minutes late, two fucking minutes and the guy thinks he can just fire me without even paying for my last hours. He literally acted like everything was fine, made me work the whole day and then decided that being two minutes -I repeat, two minutes- late was unforgivable. I have rent due this week, I’m fucked.”

“-Nikandros.” Finishes Damen.

The guy, Nikandros, is flushed and breathing hard. His little rant got him all kinds of hot and bothered, maybe he should buy a watch for the next job. Laurent tells him that exactly.

“And who the fuck are you?!” Shouts Nikandros, while, with the corner of his eye, Laurent sees Damen facepalm himself.

“Who am I?” Strats Laurent, cold and unforgiving. “I’m Laurent-“

“Laurent the new dancer.” Stops him Damen. So, this is how it’s going to be. Laurent turns to him and gives him one of his most cutting glares, but decides to play along. Damen knows all too well who Laurent is, he’s served him as a waiter while he was having dinner with his father, Aleron Étoile himself. That’s probably why he was at the party, he crashed it with his friends although it was clearly stated that no staff was allowed. Laurent doesn’t know if this fire inside is belly is anger or appreciation.

“Jesus, Damen.” Sighs Nikandros, slowly scanning Laurent from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. “Another blond?”

The crew laughs, Jokaste -the only other blonde- included. Laurent raises an eyebrow. Damen blushes. It shouldn’t be so heart warming, seeing a grown, giant sized man blush and, most of all, Laurent shouldn’t even know the existence of words such as ‘heart warming’. The moment is gone as Lazar speaks up behind them.

“Don’t worry, Nik. That piece of shit will end up lonely and so full of money someone’ll kill him for it, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Yeah,” agrees Aktis, “fucking rich people.”

“Fucking Veretians.” Smirks Pallas.

“Oi, you little shit _I’m_ Veretian.” Bites back Lazar.

“Don’t we all know it.”

Laurent has the feeling this will be a long day.

***

Dancing in front of the Lions is somehow even more anxiety-inducing than dancing in front of a commission of ex-professional dancers. The fact that he’s dancing with Damen makes it even worse. There was no routine to follow, no planned steps or moves, they told him to improvise. Laurent hates improvising and it showed, the first minute was excruciating and awful. It was Damen who stopped the music, it was Damen who started it again, took his hand and whispered in his ear: “let go.”

Laurent guesses it went pretty well after that, considering the looks that the Lions are giving him. The first one to clap is Vannes, a knowing smile on her face, the others are quick to follow. All of them except for one, Laurent should have known. Nikandros is standing there, arms crossed on his chest and a stony expression.

“Blondie sure knows how to da-ance.” Sings Lazar, eyebrows raised. “Nice ass, too.”

One look from Laurent is enough to suppress the smirk on his face.

“It’s not what we need.” Speaks up Nikandros.

Laurent turns around and levels him with a glare, unfortunately, Nikandros knows how to deal with a stare down.

“Oh, come on Nik. You saw what we saw and it was amazing. They work fucking great together.” Replies Vannes.

“Please, he moves as if he’s got something stuck up his ass and _not_ in the fun way.”

“Nikandros,” comes Damen’s voice “that’s enough.” And it is, his booming tone is glacial and it’s enough to make everyone shut up and listen.

“I know today was awful, but you shouldn’t take it out on Laurent. You know as well as I do that we’ve got something on our hands with Laurent and it has the potential of being something great. Let me work with him, you know I wouldn’t let anyone in the crew without your approval.”

Laurent is a bit stunned, the only person to ever stand up for him was Auguste. Some sick part of himself wants to shut Damen up because Laurent doesn’t need this, he can do this alone just like every other time. Another part of himself, though, can’t help but feel grateful to Damen. That part needs to be _murdered_.

“Fine. If you think he’s so great have him dance _lead_.”

It’s meant to be mocking and it’s meant to be a jab at Laurent’s abilities, so, of course, he takes it as a personal mission to be the best, fucking lead dancer the Lions have ever seen.

“Oh, I will.” Smiles Damen, challenging. Then, softer: “thank you, Nik. We won’t disappoint you.”

Oh, Damen. This man, this six feet tall, built-like-a-house man is the sweetest person Laurent has ever met. It’s going to get him hurt. That’s not his problem, Laurent reminds himself.

“I sure hope you won’t!” Pipes up Lazar with a smile. “Now, this has been great and all but I’ve got shit and Pallas to do, so. See ya.”

One by one they all leave the warehouse, Nikandros as grumpy as he came in, but something tells Laurent that Damen’s gratitude softened him a bit. It leaves them alone, Laurent and Damen. Completely, utterly alone. Laurent swallows.

“So, what do you think?” Asks Damen, spreading his arms as if gesturing to the room. The truth is that Laurent doesn’t know what to think, Vannes is tough and she looks smart enough to hold her own if they ever were to have a conversation. Lazar could be a problem, although his dirty mouth seems to be only for show. Plus, he did say something about Pallas. Jokaste... something’s not quite right with her, despite the fact that she didn’t speak at all, there was a spark in her gaze when she glared at Laurent that screamed danger.

“I can handle them.” Is what Laurent settles on. “The real question is, can they handle me?”

It makes Damen laugh, for the hundredth time, no matter Laurent was completely serious. He’s a handful and he knows it, he’s sassy and complicated and doesn’t trust easily. He’s also not very social, the thing he likes doing the most except dancing is reading. He’s always been bookish, since he was a child, but reading that much can teach you a lot of things. Things that might make him as dangerous as Jokaste. Things like how to hide a bo-

“I don’t know about them, but I do find it hard.”

“What?” Asks dumbly Laurent, caught off guard.

“I find it hard to- to keep up with you.”

That is quite the shock.

“You? _You_ find it hard to keep up with _me_? May I remind you that I dance like I’ve got ‘something stuck up my ass and not in the fun way’?”

Damen sighs, his head shaking disapprovingly. Laurent feels a bit like a child.

“That’s not true, Laurent.”

It’s anger, then, what stands out from all of Laurent’s emotions. This whirlwind of -things he can’t stop feeling since he met a strange man at a stupid beach party, these ups and downs and doubting himself and being proud. Anger, though, anger is always inexplicably on top of it all.

“Oh, please,” starts Laurent, “you saw that first minute, you saw that I’m fucking terrible at this, that I need guidance and help and- not even that, actually, because I’ve had the best teachers in all of Vere and, still, I can’t look like I’m having fun. Dancing is what I love the most in the world and I can’t seem to enjoy it, how fucked up is that? And then there’s you. The only -fuck, the only time I seem to be able to let go is when I’m dancing with a perfect stranger, drunk off my ass!”

He’s finished his rant and his cheeks are on fire. He’s ashamed, he shouldn’t have lost control like that, but maybe that’s exactly the point. Maybe he’s _supposed_ to lose control like that and finally, for once in his miserable life, tell someone who’s not Auguste how he’s really feeling, the truth about Laurent Étoile. Never mind that he met this man two days ago, never mind that he hasn’t proved himself trustworthy, yet. Not with the way he’s looking at him like he’s seeing Laurent for the first time, not when he’s actually considering all those stupid words instead of dismissing them as a temper tantrum, not when he nods, resolute, takes a step forward and says:

“There is nothing wrong with asking for help.” Laurent’s stunned silence must make him think he’s said the wrong thing, because his eyes turn even softer and he dares lay his hands on Laurent’s shoulders. Gently. Then, he continues, “look, I’ve felt the way we move together, the way _you_ move and it’s incredible. If this is what it takes for you to dance that beautifully, well, who cares? Let’s have it, let’s do this together.”

The first thing Laurent does is take a step back, letting Damen’s hands fall from his shoulders. He sees his expression fall openly.

“There’s an audition for Defleur Academy in a month,” starts Laurent, “if you dance with me then, I’ll be the best fucking lead your crew has ever seen.”

Damen smiles.

***

Laurent is nervous. He’s sitting at the table of a two Michelin stars restaurant with a mask hidden under his hands, Damen opposite him, Vannes, Jokaste, Lazar and Nikandros at his sides. The people around them are chatting and eating and drinking and completely unaware. In his peripheral view, he recognises a waiter that looks suspiciously like Kastor pass by and settle himself with a tray in a corner. Damen looks at them all, one by one, and nods. They put their masks on. Kastor starts the music. Laurent climbs on top of the table. He’s distantly aware of people staring, mouths open and forks hovering mid-bite, plates clattering and shattering as his swiftly moves forward. He walks and walks until he reaches Damen, extends a hand and the shows begins. Dancing with the Lions is nothing like he expected, or maybe it is. They have each other’s backs, but, at the same time, they expect a flawless performance. They’ve rehearsed long and hard for this night, Laurent only came back to the hotel at night and promptly collapsed on the bed. Their performances have to be controversial and unexpected, if they want to win ‘the most hits on YouTube’ competition they need to surprise. It’s all illegal, it would stray into offensive if it weren’t so beautiful, if people didn’t stay and watch them, amazed.

Someone -Lazar- throws his arms around him and lifts him, Laurent’s abs burn as he and Damen are dragged away from each other just to come back together a few minutes later. Them on the table, the rest of the crew on the floor. They all dance, perfectly. The same moves to the same rhythm, so coordinated that if you were to watch them in a column they’d look like one. It’s perfect, just as it has been a hundred times before, when the table they danced on was Pallas’ and it took four of them to bring it up the stairs of the warehouse. Laurent, well, Laurent is feeling good. He’s dancing like he belongs, like he’s meant to be a Lion himself, like this mask he’s wearing turns him into some kind of alter ego. Another Laurent who lets his passion show, who’s not afraid of taking a risk and deviate a little from the choreography to let his own style transpire. This, Laurent decides in that moment, is more than enough.

Afterwards, when they’re done leaving people speechless and escaping from security, Laurent finds himself in a small, warm bar at the edge of town, a place Ios’ élite would never even know existed. It’s Nikandros’ grandfather’s, the bar, and it feels so much like home that Laurent never wants to leave. Spending his life leaving in hotels, after his mother died, kind of made him give the world ‘home’ a whole new meaning. This bar, with its old lights and old style, with its people dancing thoughtlessly to Akielon traditional music, feels already so much like home that it’s scary. Because Laurent can’t have this forever, he and Damen will finish their lessons and Laurent will have his audition and it will be over.

“What’s with the long face, blondie? You did good today, great, even.”

It’s Lazar, lopsided grin and sweaty hair. He’s been dancing with Nikandros’ little sisters the whole evening, Laurent spotted Pallas gazing at him so fondly that he had to look away.

“This is my everyday face.”

They keep quiet for a while, both looking at the dance floor where almost everyone is. Laurent is happy to stay here, back against the counter with a drink in his hands and no unwanted contact with other humans, thank you very much.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Asks Lazar. Laurent startles and realises he’s been watching Damen dance with someone’s grandmother the whole time. Great. The thing is, Damen and him have started their ‘lessons’, that’s what Damen calls them. Laurent hasn’t chosen the music, yet, but they’re rehearsing some incredible moves that he’s pretty sure he could fit everywhere and Damen is just... he’s carefree and he’s steady and he follows Laurent’s orders with an amused smile on his face, like he knows the dictatorial tone is just for show (well, most of the time). The thing is, the last time they danced together, just the two of them, they ended up one against the other. They were on the beach and the ocean was wetting their feet and they were breathing hard and Damen looked so achingly beautiful and -and Laurent wanted to kiss him.

“He is.” He replies, not enough words for his voice to crack.

“No!” Smiles Lazar, mocking. Laurent rolls his eyes. “No! You, Laurent what’s-your-surname, just said something nice. Someone pinch me so I know it’s not a dream!”

Laurent is headed straight for another combo of eye-rolling plus evil glare when Damen himself decides to join them.

“Why would you be dreaming?” He asks, all breathy and smiling and shining like the sun.

“Well,” starts Lazar, “Laurent just said-“

“You’re an idiot!” Interrupts him Laurent, Lazar tries and fails to hide his smirk before leaving with a wink. Damen is still smiling.

“So, would you care for a dance with said idiot?” Asks Damen. Laurent is happy to stay here with a drink in his hands, thank you very much, but Damen’s expression is so earnest and hopeful and his heart jumps with excitement, the traitor. So he nods, he steps forward and straight into Damen’s awaiting arms. They walk to the dance floor.

“I don’t know how to dance to this.” Says Laurent, a bit insecure. He hopes Damen doesn’t notice.

“I’ll teach you.” He says.

Laurent hasn’t had this much fun since he was a kid playing with Auguste. They’re dancing to Akielon music and it’s all jumps and turns and Damen is smiling so big it must hurt. The music is fast and happy, they’re surrounded by other people, sometimes they settle in a circle and dance all together, sometimes it’s just Laurent and Damen. It’s only when the music is reaching its peak, mid-turn, with the eyes of old and young alike on them, that Laurent realises he’s laughing. He can feel his eyes crinkle and his lips stretch and he just -laughs. Hard and good natured and _happy_. The way Damen looks at him -while he’s arm in arm with Vannes, twirling around like he did at four on his first ballet lessons- it’s intoxicating. Then, the music stops and everyone starts to go home. They all say their goodbyes, the bar slowly empties until the only people left are Laurent, Damen and Nikandros’ grandfather.

“I have to close up, you two. Get out of here, lovebirds.” It’s said with a laugh, raspy and warm. Laurent feels himself flush.

“We’re not-“ He starts, but Damen shakes his head and takes him by the hand.

“Come on,” he interrupts, “let’s go.”

When they’re out of the door, in the pleasant warmth of the night, something that Laurent can appreciate about Akielos, Damen tugs at his hand. Laurent raises an eyebrow.

“Would you like to see something?” Asks Damen. Laurent should say no, he should go home because he told Auguste he’d be there by ten and it’s already two in the morning, but he can’t make himself leave. It’s like his feet are stuck and the only way to move is to follow Damen, wherever he goes. To the end of Earth, even.

“Alright.”

So, they start walking. And they walk and walk in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Laurent is a quiet person by nature, he’s enjoying the silence until he breaks it.

“If you’re bringing me out here to kill me, you should know my brother will come looking for me if I’m not home by morning.”

Damen laughs. They’re in a small port, it’s deadly quiet and almost completely empty, only a few small boats are docked. Damen heads straight for one of them. He starts loosening the knots until the boat threatens to float away by itself, then he steps on it and takes an oar in hand.

“Are you coming or not?” He asks.

“You’re taking me on a boat.” States Laurent. “In the middle of the night.”

Damen shrugs. Laurent considers his options for less than five seconds before huffing and stepping on the boat, ignoring Damen’s extended hand.

“This used to be my father’s, when I was a kid we always came here at night because in the middle of the canal the stars look brighter.” Says Damen as he rows.

“You don’t anymore?”

Damen sighs.

“My father -we haven’t talked to him in a long time, me and Kastor.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.” Says Laurent, kind of embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, let’s just change the topic, yeah? After all, I’m here to woo you.”

He’s smiling know, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Are you? I don’t think it’s working.” Bites back Laurent, but his voice is soft and it comes out playful rather than annoyed.

“Really? Look up.”

Only now does Laurent realise that they’ve been still for some time, right in the middle of the canal. He looks up. The sky is littered with stars, shining like nothing Laurent has ever seen, the moon reflects on the water, leaving a trail of silver. It’s beautiful. Laurent’s breath is stuck in his throat, Damen showed him this, Damen showed him all of this beauty and he’s not even looking at it himself. No, he’s looking at Laurent like _he_ is the stars and the moon and Laurent knows it because he’s looking at Damen too. A moment passes, everything stills. It’s quiet. Laurent has never been kissed, he is twenty and he’s never been kissed, but he wants. God, he wants so much he could burst with it and Damen is looking at him like _that_. He shifts closer and closer until there’s almost no space between them and Laurent knows he looks wary and uncertain and maybe a bit scared, but Damen raises a hand and lays it on his chest, just above his heart. It’s racing.

“Can I?” He asks, like someone who came out of a book. Laurent nods, he’s not sure he could utter a single word with how dry his mouth his. He’s nervous, he’s so nervous but then Damen’s lips are on his and he almost jumps, surprised. They part, Damen tries to hide his amusement and miserably fails.

“Shut up.” Hisses Laurent, his cheeks are on fire and he’s sure that not even the darkness of the night can hide the proof of his embarrassment. He’s about to get up, take ahold of the oars and row the boat back, but Damen stops him. Fingers wrapped around his sleeve, eyes serious.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “come here.”

Laurent does, and they kiss again. And, this time, Laurent lets himself go. When he feels Damen’s tongue, his entire body sags and, suddenly, there’s this fire burning in his stomach. Hotter and hotter by the second. He lets Damen take him apart, inch by inch, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. Here, on a flimsy boat under the dark sky, rocking with the thrusts of Damen’s hips and the waves of the canal, and for a few blissful hours, it’s just them. Them and the moon. And Laurent is free.

***

When he comes back home, at seven in the morning, in yesterday’s clothes and with a smile he can’t hide on his face, Auguste is waiting for him. Sat on his bed, straight faced. He doesn’t look very happy.

“Where have you been?” He asks as soon as Laurent steps into the suite. Laurent wasn’t expecting him to be there, he jumps at the sound of his voice and drops his room card.

“Jesus, Auguste. You scared me.”

“Where have you been?” He repeats. No, definitely not happy.

“I... I-“

“Have you been hanging out with that Akielon waiter that oh so clumsily spilled water on your dick? The one you’ve danced with at the party when you were drunk off your ass? The one that looks like he came out of a runway? The one with the _muscles_?”

Auguste’s voice increases in volume until he’s almost shouting. He’s on his feet now, and he’s walking towards Laurent and he’s -he’s fucking smirking. This idiot is smirking and teasing him. Laurent scowls and tries to make his way to the bathroom, but Auguste steps right in front of the door.

“Nah-uh, you’re not running away from this conversation.”

“This is not a conversation. This is you making fun of me.” Objects Laurent, trying to sidestep his brother, but Auguste blocks his exit once again.

“Oh, come on, you’ve never done stuff like this, let me have some fun.” He whines. Laurent rolls his eyes for what must be the hundredth time today and gives him a pointed look.

“One question, I’ll only answer one question, then you’re leaving me be.”

Auguste’s face lights up, he brings his hands in front of him and rubs them together in anticipation.

“Before tomorrow night, if that’s possible. I have to shower.” Mocks him Laurent, but Auguste dismisses his words with a gesture and resumes thinking.

“Alright, I’ve got it.”

“Finally.” Replies Laurent drily. Auguste puts his hands on Laurent’s shoulders and gives him a light shrug, the he tugs him closer and looks at him dead in the eyes.

“Tell me, Laurent,” he starts, eyebrows drawn together and a somewhat concerned expression on his face, “is his dick big?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii, I'm sorry I took so long to update but this chapter was particularly difficult to write. (It's also short, but, whatever.)  
> Enjoy and get ready for some angst because this could probably be titled 'shit hits the fan'.

Things are good. Things are too good, which means something bad is going to happen soon. Laurent is not ready for it, though, certainly not when he’s rehearsing with Damen on the beach. The thing about Damen is that Laurent doesn’t think he deserves him, because Damen is good and fun and sexy and every second he spends with him, Laurent feels like he’s floating. On cloud nine, that is. Damen has been taking him all around the city, insisting he needs to ‘live a little’ and Laurent is not complaining, not when they have been walking the streets of the old town, a place fallen in disgrace that hides so many treasures Laurent feels overwhelmed by its beauty. Not when they’ve been having dinner at Damen’s place every night, a dingy studio apartment with an old couch and a rickety table. And a bed that threatens to fall apart every night, when they’re covered in sweat and fervent and _burning_. Laurent thinks he might be in love with this, with this life. With Damen.

“Let’s try it again.”

Laurent startles a bit, thoughts about rocking boats and four-letter words drowned by Damen’s voice.

“You’re not focused.” Says Damen, although there is no heat behind his words. Laurent stays silent.

“What’s bothering you?” Presses Damen as he takes a step closer to Laurent’s form, crouched so that he can dip his fingers idly in the water. He straightens up with a sigh, looking into Damen’s eyes feels a lot like swearing not to lie ever again.

“Damen, I think I-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, maybe for the better, maybe for the worst. It’s Palllas, he’s shouting at them to come to the warehouse from the small kiosk on the beach. Laurent gives Damen one last, lingering look before starting to gather his things and heading to the showers. It was probably a sign, he wasn’t meant to tell Damen something that might scare him after all, it’s soon, too soon. They’ve been seeing each other for a month, they’re not even together. Hearing those three words would have sent Damen running for the hills, and Laurent would have found himself lonely, regret a heavy weight on his shoulders. Ever since high school he has learnt that hiding his emotions is the best way not to get his feelings hurt, maybe those who liked to call him a ‘cast iron bitch’ are those who made him like that. Damen is not like them, though, not even close. Damen is much too perfect, he’s bound to have his own flaws but Laurent hasn’t found any, yet.

When they get to the warehouse the whole crew is already there, Nikandros doesn’t waste any time before giving Laurent an evil look as he steps into the room side by side with Damen.

“So, what is going on?” Asks Damen. It’s Halvik who explains everything, she tells them about a Veretian company publicly announcing their interest in buying a patch of land to turn it into a five stars resort. The thing is, the patch of land is Ios’ port area, it’s the place where some of these people were born, where some other found a new family. It’s the place where Nikandros’ grandfather built his bar from scratch, a place full of tradition and dear to many. And they’re going to tear it all down just so they can make more money than they already have. The thing is, Laurent knows what company it is before a name is even mentioned. He feels sick to his stomach.

“It’s fucking Aleron Étoile.” Spits Nikandros. “As if he’s not rich enough, as if he’s not enough of an asshole.”

“Nikandros-“ intervenes Damen, casting a quick look to Laurent, but it’s Laurent himself who interrupts him.

“No, he’s right.” Silence. Nobody expects the city kid to speak up against injustice, too bad Laurent is not some spoiled, snobby city kid. “We need to stop this, and we can. We’ve gained enough visibility with the last video that reporters have started talking about us on the news, we can take two birds with one stone. These things usually require a final meeting with the city council where the deal is sealed, if we were to crash that meeting we’d inspire-” a deep breath “rebellion.”

The crew is staring at him as if they’ve never really met him before, Laurent doesn’t dare look at Damen. He prides himself into being a honourable man, Laurent is afraid of what he might think of him now that he decided to betray his own father.

“Kid, you are a fucking genius.” Smiles Vannes, all teeth and a spark of mischief in her eyes. Laurent likes her.

 

***

 

A week later, Damen corners him before they step into the elevator.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Laurent wants to laugh, because that’s exactly what scares him, the fact that he’s never been so sure of his own decisions before. The fact that he’s willing to jeopardise his family company’s future just because a bunch of people he’s met a month ago wants to win a stupid competition. It’s not that, though, it’s not about a stupid competition. It’s about tradition, it’s about home. It’s about memories and people and justice. He hasn’t told Auguste, of course. He’s been ignoring his brother for a week, afraid that one glance at Laurent might be enough for him to figure out something shady might be going on. Whatever, this will only benefit Auguste: after such a big failure on his father’s part, Auguste will have a chance to prove his worth, once and for all. It’s still scary, this whole betraying your own family thing. Aleron has never loved him, Laurent is sure of that, so maybe that’s enough of an excuse. Maybe.

“I am.” He says, then. Firm. Damen gives him a look, a look he’s been giving him the whole week. As if Laurent is not quite living up to his expectations. He’s been a bit distant, too, they haven’t rehearsed Laurent’s choreography once. Laurent doesn’t like to think about the implications of that.

“You do know we can stop this, right? I can call it off, you just need to say the words.”

“I said I’m sure.” Snaps Laurent. “If you’re so scared then maybe you should go, leave it to us.”

The way Damen stills, the way his body tenses, is telling. He’s angry, he’s irritated. Good.

“We’ll talk about this later.” He says.

“Talk about what? About how you feel the _need_ to show me the right way, the right thing to do? Oh, you just love playing dad, don’t you? I know it might seem like it, but I do _not_ in fact have daddy issues.”

And with that, he steps into the elevator, presses the button to the tenth floor and watches the doors close on a stunned, speechless Damen. He’s going to regret this, he always does. His tongue gets sharper when he feels cornered and Laurent has always known he has a thing for the dramatics. A smart mouth and no compassion whatsoever. Damen doesn’t deserve someone like him and Laurent certainly doesn’t deserve someone like Damen. Standing there, alone in the elevator, he knows what he said cut deep. He knows he hurt Damen, someone who simply shouldn’t be hurt. Ever. It’s with that on mind, with regret and self-hatred a heavy weight on his shoulders, that he dances on top of a long table, stepping onto papers and kicking down mugs and dirtying documents. Damen does what he has to do, he follows the choreography and doesn’t let Laurent fall, no matter how much he’d like to, Laurent can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t deign his father of a glance, but if he’s even half as horrified as his colleagues, then their mission has succeeded.

They come very, very close to being arrested this time. Laurent remembers running as soon as the first man from security barges into the conference room, he remembers hoping his mask won’t fall and reveal his identity for the world to see. He remembers feeling relief as he jumps into the van and notices no one is missing. They all made it out.

It works. The rebellion has been ignited, journals and magazines and reporters talk about a dance crew from Ios protesting in a way only they can, sparking indignation into Akielons’ hearts. A petition online has been signed by over ten thousand people, people who want to save the port and everything it stands for. Too bad, it’s not enough. Laurent’s father has still managed to get the city council’s approval, somehow. It’s been hell, living with him and Auguste. Always in a rush, always shouting at the phone and _damn those kids, they’re going to fucking ruin us_. Those are Auguste’s words. Laurent feels his heart clench painfully. There is only one thing he needs, one person, actually, but that person isn’t there. He’s tried calling Damen, twice. When he didn’t answer, he sent him a text. He won’t do more, he won’t be the desperate, pathetic kid. Still, they haven’t talked after the performance and Laurent hasn’t had a chance to explain, to apologise. He isn’t even sure he’d be able to say sorry, if it ever came to that; he’s much too proud, much too selfish and- no, it’s not that. He’s scared. He’s just scared.

 

***

 

It all goes to shit at ten p.m. sharp, on the night of Auguste’s party. After everything that has happened, after the humiliation and monetary loss, Aleron has decided that throwing a charity party might be a good idea to boost up Auguste’s name and Laurent can only agree. He didn’t mean for this to happen, he didn’t mean for Auguste’s name to be associated with this whole scandal. It’s guilt and pure love for his brother that brings him to agree with his father, for once in his life. The fact that the preparations are taking his mind off Damen is only an added bonus, he figures he’ll talk to him, sooner or later. Probably later. Damen-issues aside, the party is going well, Auguste is out there being his charming self and regaining the trust of many investors who turned their backs to Aleron while Laurent stands by himself in front of the bar. It reminds him of that night at Nikandros’ grandfather’s bar. It reminds him of dancing just for the sake of it, of warm smiles and dimples and a rocking boat. It reminds him of Damen. He misses him. Laurent never believed in love at first sight -or love at fourth, fifth sight for what it matters- but this thing with Damen has changed him. There’s a part of him struggling to re-emerge from where it had been buried all those years ago, when his mother died. A part of him that likes to have fun, that knows how to let go and be carefree. Damen awoke it, just like he awoke Laurent’s ice-cold blood, making it pump in a frenzy.

Laurent needs to get him back, he needs to get his shit together and apologise. He needs to find Damen and explain that he didn’t really mean what he said, that he was so, so overwhelmed by this whole justice thing. That he found himself torn between doing what was right for the community, what was morally right, and betraying the only person who stood by him no matter what. (He means Auguste, his father isn’t deserving of Laurent’s compassion). So that’s what he will do, once the party is over he’ll drive to Damen’s apartment and he’ll get him back. He’s tired of playing the damsel in distress, Laurent is going to get what he wants and nothing can stop him. He’s going to knock on that door and tell Damen exactly how he feels, who cares if it’s only been two months? He loves him and Damen deserves to know. Laurent can only hope he’ll be forgiven.

It’s just when this newfound strength and conviction help Laurent make up his mind that he hears the first crash. It’s a tray, thrown to the ground by the same waiter who was carrying it. Then, another. Then, music starts playing and The Lions walk through the door.

Laurent has never thought of their performances as scary, he’s never thought of them as anything other than art. Beautiful, daring art. This is not it. This is The Lions dancing dressed as soldiers, this is The Lions waving smoke guns and breaking everything that stands in their way. People are screaming, the whole situations looks like an attack, from the outfits to the smoke making people cough and tear up. Laurent is speechless, he can’t move. He’s distantly aware of Auguste being by his side, tugging at his sleeve in an attempt to drag him out of the room. Laurent’s feet are heavy, though, he keeps watching all those people that he considered friends destroy his brother’s future. They’re all there, he sees Nikandros leading them, Vannes and Lazar and Pallas. Halvik and Jokaste. Kastor fiddling with some caves in a corner and- and suddenly nothing matters anymore, because the only thing Laurent can see is his own face plastered on every screen in the room. It’s a picture, a still from his very first performance with the Lions. Then there’s a video, it’s him, again. He’s easily recognisable, the blond hair and the mask just a tad bit askew, just enough for his father to look at it and turn to Laurent, aghast. Another picture and another and another. In every single picture, he’s dancing. Then, one last photo: he’s standing on a table, spread legs and chin raised up high, surrounded by corporate members and flying papers. Besides him, Auguste gasps.

“What-“ His brother doesn’t get to finish his question, not when Nikandros points angrily at one of the screens and starts shouting his name.

“-ent Étoile, Laurent Étoile, ladies and gentlemen. Did you expect this, uh?” He’s taking to Laurent’s father, “your own son betrayed you, your own son believes that what you’re doing is utter bullshit!”

He’s screaming. Aleron is staring at him with a blank expression but Laurent knows, he _knows_ that his father is raging, Auguste is looking at him and he can feel his disapproving stare and everything seems to be falling apart, all around him, and then security barges into the room and The Lions disappear, as quick and efficiently as they came in. Laurent is left petrified, alone.

“You did this?” Whispers Auguste, Laurent can’t bring himself to look at him. Aleron still hasn’t said a word, he’s simply standing there, looking at Laurent like he doesn’t believe he’s his own flesh and blood. Laurent knows his father hates him, he knows he never loved him but this- this feels like a revelation. He’s never seen that look in his eyes, he’s never seen the pure, uncensored hurt that’s clearly washing over his face.

“Laurent!” Bursts out Auguste. Laurent jumps. He finally turns to him. “Why would you do this?”

His voice breaks mid sentence and Laurent bursts into tears. He can’t stand the sight of them, of them both -his brother and his father. He can’t be in the same room as them, he’s nothing but a failure, he isn’t deserving of their forgiveness, not even their understanding. He runs through the door and leaves them behind, Auguste calls after him.

As soon as he’s outside, standing on the curb, he can finally breathe. It doesn’t even take him a full minute to make the decision, he stops a cab and directs him to Damen’s apartment. The driver takes one look at him, at his tear-stricken face, and decides to keep quiet. The thing is, Laurent has been hurt before. He’s been hurt a million times, he’s been hurt by people, by sickness, by his own thoughts. It’s never felt like this. It’s never felt so disorientating, so incredibly real, as if there’s a wound down there somewhere, gaping and infected and it _hurts_. It’s almost physical. It’s The Lions going against him, Damen -the first person he’s ever loved like that- deciding to just tear his life apart. He had Laurent’s heart in his hand and he just squeezed. It’s his family not being able to ever look at him again, living with the knowledge that Laurent has betrayed them. It’s him being an outsider, once again, just like he’s always been. He was made to be alone, he was made for himself and himself only. The self-hatred punches a sob out of him, it has him gasping and crying harder and that’s all he will allow himself. Nothing more than this ride, when he steps out of this cab, he will stop crying and he will stop feeling and he’ll go back to being an ice statue. A cast iron bitch. And he’ll need it, oh he’ll need for what he’s about to do.

He finds the door to the building to be open and stomps his way up the stairs to Damen’s floor. He stops in front of his door, he knows Damen is not home -he was proceeding to ruin Laurent’s life just half a hour ago- so the only thing he can do is wait. And he does, he sits on the floor, back to the wall and legs stretched, and waits. It’s long and it’s excruciating, Laurent can’t stop his thoughts, thoughts of betrayal and heartbreaking. Maybe he deserved it, what goes around comes around and all that. It takes Damen another thirty minutes to show his face, it’s late and he’s dressed in a t-shirt and jogging shorts, he’s sweaty, as if he just came back from a run, but Laurent knows the truth. He came back from a run indeed, a run to escape the police.

Still, he’s beautiful.

The corridor is dimly lit, this kind of orangish glow that softens Damen’s harsher features and casts shadows on his eyes. He stands there, surprised and dumbfounded and so incredibly -naive. Laurent almost had this, he almost got his happy ending. Almost.

“What are you doing here?” Asks Damen. Laurent stands up, straight and proud. _I’m not afraid of you._

“You know,” starts Laurent, instead of replying to his question, “for someone who prides himself for being just and truthful, for someone so condescending, you sure don’t follow your own advice.”

Damen stills, he recognises Laurent’s tone. He knows what is about to come won’t be pretty and the funny thing is, Laurent knows that he knows. What Laurent _doesn’t_ know, is how Damen will decide to play it.

“Laurent, what are you-“

“I should have know better.” Interrupts him Laurent. ”You’re just like everyone else. Did you enjoy it? Did you like seeing me pale and stumble in front of the truth?” Each question feels like a kick to the stomach, each word he blurts out is well aimed. The only problem is that it’s not aimed at the man who hurt him, it’s aimed at himself. “Did you get some sick kind of rush out of this, out of alienating me from my own family?”

Damen is good. Laurent will give him that. His face is stunned, he’s just standing there, arms dangling at his sides and brows all furrowed. He’s a good actor.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You need to explain what is going on, I can’t deal with you like this.”

That’s the final straw.

“You can’t deal with me _like this_? It’s your fault I’m like this, you and your fucking crew. Stop playing dumb, Damen, it doesn’t suit you.”

All this self pity and self hatred has turned into anger. It’s hot and burning in his chest and he wants to lash it all out, he wants Damen to bleed. Of course, Damen has other plans.

“Laurent, I’m not going to stand here letting you spit insult after insult without knowing why the hell you’re acting like this. Either you explain yourself, or I’m leaving.”

Laurent laughs, he can’t help it. He just laughs and laughs and laughs, the tears in his eyes have nothing to do with it. Does Damen think him that stupid? Does he really think he can act as if nothing has happened, as if Laurent imagined it all?

“God, you really are good at this. Ever thought of going into acting?” A pause. There’s silence, Damen keeps opening his mouth but no words come out of it. Laurent feels the weight of the situation crash on him, he just wants to know _why_. Why would Damen hurt him like this? He has learnt to expect the worst of people, but Damen was supposed to be different. Damen was supposed to be the one that changed everything, the one that changed _him_.

“What did you think you’d get out of this? Revenge, justice?” Insists Laurent, but there’s something not quite right with his voice. He thought it would come out half broken and trembling. He wanted it to come out steady and confident. The way it does come out is snarky and petulant and filled to the brim with spite. Damen’s expression darkens, his hands close into fists.

“You know what? I’m not hearing another word.” He’s angry, his posture suggests as much, but his words are calm. Disappointed. “I wanted to call you, I wanted to clear things out after the last performance because I like you, Laurent. I like you, so much. But you’re not the man I thought you’d be, you’re low and cold and I won’t be treated like this; I don’t deserve it, I’ve learnt that much after Jokaste.”

It’s -there are just _so many_ things all at once. He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know what to think. Hearing Damen say those things, say that he liked him, hurts in a way he didn’t think was possible. It’s another lie piled on top of months of deceit and it hits him right in the heart. Right there, in that part of him that he thought would never defrost. There’s an indistinctive mess of feelings swelling inside him, and Laurent doesn’t know what to be. He guesses indignant is a good start.

“ _I’m_ low? Oh, Damen, what you did tonight, that was law. There is no need to lie, you don’t have to pull that card, I know now.”

“What card? What did I do tonight? You’re not- Laurent, you’re not making any sense.” Says Damen, still lying through his teeth, still acting so, so clueless. As if Laurent doesn’t even deserve one single, brief moment of truth.

“The feelings card, of course.” Replies Laurent, so incredibly mocking, so incredibly calm while he’s nothing but fire and destruction inside. “I’m curious, though, what was your entire purpose? You knew I was Aleron Étoile’s son, so you decided I could be exploited, but what I don’t understand is why you were so adamant about your crew not finding out. They clearly did, that’s what this was all about, but why?”

There’s a moment, then, when Damen’s expression changes once again. He’s not angry, he’s not surprised, he’s not confused. He’s -he’s worried.

“They found out? Laurent, I...” he trails off, at a loss of words.

“Forget it, Damen. You’re just like them, I’m lucky I was in it only for the sex, imagine how I’d feel if I’d really fallen for you.” A laugh, hollow. Forced. Damen won’t notice. “I hope you got what you wanted, at least this whole mess will matter to someone.”

He leaves, then. He leaves Damen behind and, with him, a piece of himself. He turns his back to him, ignores his name being called over and over and doesn’t let the tears fall.

 

***

 

Auguste isn’t speaking to him. Aleron isn’t speaking to him. Damen has been calling everyday for the past week. Today, he has an audition to attend.

He is acutely aware of the stares people keep throwing him, and so what? Perfect, emotionless Laurent Étoile steps into the room with unwashed hair and ratty clothes and unconcealed bags under his eyes. Poised, ruthless Laurent Étoile looks like he hasn’t slept in days and his hands tremble slightly and his eyes are void. So what?

He makes it. He gets his place at Delpha Academy. The woman who gave him his second chance gives him a look, a knowing look. She comes to him, when he’s still breathing hard and hasn’t quite recovered from the last steps yet. She comes to him and tells him, in front of everyone, that she’s never seen someone so young dance like that. She tells him it was heart-wrenching, then, in a whisper, she tells him she’s sorry. _What for?_ Asks Laurent, but he knows. He knows she knows.

The choreography was a duet, he dances it alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! It’s done, thank you for all your kudos and comments, and I’m sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I hope you’ll enjoy the ending as much as I do.

It’s Jokaste, the first who comes to him. He’s sitting at the pier, Ios’ sunset reflects on the ocean with warm colours and a unique glow. It should be peaceful, it just makes him sad. Because this is Damen’s favourite place, this is where they laughed and kissed and made love countless times. Laurent is a masochist, at this point it’s the only thing that would make sense, sitting here, wallowing in self-pity and memories of moments long gone is punishing enough. Of course, Jokaste knew he would be here. Laurent never really asked about them -her and Damen- but Damen implied he had been hurt by her once before when they- well, when he and Laurent argued and everything fell apart. Seeing her at the pier lights up something in his brain, a revelation, it’s just the one last proof he needs to be sure. As he looks at her approaching, he can’t believe he never thought of it before: she’s beautiful, objectively so, with her long blond hair and blue eyes and the body of a dancer. She’s also snarky and ruthless and clever. For a moment, an unpleasant and certainly unwanted thought throws itself at the forefront of his mind: what if he was nothing but a replacement? The first devious blond Damen laid eyes on, someone to fight fire with fire. He likes to think better of Damen, though.

“He hasn’t come here for weeks.” Is what she says as she sits next to Laurent, careful to keep some sort of safety distance. Just in case he were to lose his shit and push her into the water, Laurent supposes. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even deign her of a glance. She sighs. 

“It was me, I told Nikandros because I knew Damen wouldn’t believe anyone but his best friend, let alone me. He loves you too much.” 

At that, Laurent cent help but laugh, it’s an ugly sound, scratchy and low and disbelieving. 

“And what did you tell him exactly?” Pushes Laurent, because he can’t believe this, he just can’t believe Damen might have planned all of this from the very beginning. Jokaste gives him a look, it’s calculating and a bit surprised. 

“I saw you on the paper,” she starts, “after our last performance you and your family were pretty much everywhere but there was never a picture, except on that one and, even then, it was outdated. You were younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen but I could tell it was you.” Her tone is getting harsher and harsher. “ _Laurent_ _Ètoile_ , what a fucking joke.” 

Laurent supposes it’s his unperturbed silence that spurs her on, even angrier than before. 

“You lied to him. I don’t know what your plan was and I don’t care, but Damen doesn’t deserve this. When I said he would have never believed me is because I betrayed him myself, years ago. He was mad in love and I slept with his brother, we went behind his back for weeks before Kastor gave in a told him. I don’t know why I did it, maybe I got scared because it was all too real, because Damen was a fucking dream come true and these things don’t happen to people like me. Where I come from, men don’t marry women because they love them, they just want someone to cook for them and suck their cock and beat, if they feel like relieving some tension.” 

It was low, sleeping with Damen’s own brother was low. He knows nothing about Jokaste’s life before Damen, he knows nothing about her family or her hardships. What she just told him helps, Laurent understands but doesn’t forgive. There is no justification. 

“Why are you telling me this?” He asks instead. 

“Because I want you to understand why I’m here. I care for Damen, it’s been years and we cleared things out but it will never be like before. I want you to understand that I never meant to hurt him, that I love him, in one way or another, and that’s why I told Nikandros about your secret. Damen doesn’t deserve another me, he doesn’t deserve another liar in his life.”

He keeps quiet for a moment, too shocked to utter a single word. He looks at her and thinks: _she doesn’t know, they don’t know._ Is it possible that Damen really did orchestrate this whole thing by himself, that he played all this people? Laurent wants to say no, and he wants to believe it. The Damen he knows isn’t capable of this, the Damen he knows would never hurt his family, his friends. The Damen he knows, though, might be all in Laurent’s head. 

“You“ he starts, “know nothing.” 

She opens her mouth to interrupt him, but Laurent stops her with a raised finger. He can’t help the incredulous smile that spreads over his face, the sheer hurt that comes with the knowledge that Damen is another person entirely. 

“He knew about me, when he asked me to come see your performance he was waiting the table where I was having dinner _with my father and brother._  When Nikandros came in complaining about my father, he was the one who told me to shut up. He is the one who lied to you.” 

It’s Jokaste’s turn to stare at him, speechless. Then, realisation slowly washes over her face and a disbelieving laugh escapes her mouth. 

“Of course,” she says, shaking her head, “of course he wouldn’t say anything. He was already infatuated with you, he knew we would have never let you into the crew if we had known about your father. Sometimes he’s so predictable that he gets away with it.” 

And -well, alright, she believes him. She believes Laurent and she knows that Damen lied and she doesn’t look perturbed at all. She doesn’t look angry at the fact that Damen played them all just to tear down Laurent’s family and their business, and for what, revenge? 

“Why aren’t you mad?” He asks, Jokaste looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. 

“Why would I ever be mad? This was all a huge misunderstanding.” 

Laurent’s stomach knots unpleasantly, there’s this unease inside him, this feeling that something is very, very wrong. 

“A misunderstanding? It seems pretty clear to me: Damen lied to you so that when you finally found out, you’d want to avenge him or whatever bullshit and follow his plan without blinking an eye. I have no idea what he wanted to achieve with your last stunt, if it was about revenge or just plain hatred towards the rich and mighty. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded that much if it cost my father, but that night was my brother’s chance and you _ruined_ it.” 

Jokaste’s eyes widen, scarily so. She’s gone pale, it doesn’t suit her. Something is very, very wrong indeed. 

“Laurent,” she says, calm, as if he’s some sort of wild animal she needs to soothe. “Damen didn’t know about that night, Nikandros knew he would never agree to something like that, so he took it upon himself to organise it all behind Damen’s back. He wanted to make you pay for what you did to him, for leading him on. He hadn’t even told him that we all knew, yet.” 

It’s a bucket of cold water -ice cold water- drenching him from head to toe. His heart stops for a second, he thinks, and sound suddenly disappears. It’s like he’s submerged, trying to breathe even though his lungs draw in water instead of oxygen. It was all a misunderstanding. The things he told Damen, the things he accused him of... he was wrong, he was so, so wrong and now Damen probably hates him. Surely, he surely hates him. He will never forgive Laurent, not after he proved himself to be nothing but a spoiled brat, selfish and incapable of talking things through like any other adult. God, the things he said. _I’m lucky I was in it on,y for the sex, imagine how I’d feel if I’d really fallen for you._  Except that he did fall for him, hard. Some part of him is telling him to run to Damen and apologise, to explain and hope he’ll be given a second chance. Another part of him, though, much stronger and much more honest, reminds him that he’s suffered enough. Who is he kidding? Damen will never give him a second chance, he doesn’t deserve one. He was made to be lonely and alone, he was made to stay by himself and no amount of apologies will ever stop Damen from seeing it, from realising just what an awful person Laurent is. 

Of course this would happen to him, of course the only good thing he had would be taken away because of something so stupid. It’s a sign, a sign that Laurent isn’t allowed to want nice things and he certainly isn’t allowed more than one. He got the Academy, he can’t have Damen too. 

_***_

Auguste, predictably, comes to him next. Because he’s a good man like that, because he’s the best man Laurent has ever met and the only person who could ever compare, Laurent let slip between his fingers like water. Lately, he has been hiding in his room for the most part of the day. Before, at least, he used to go to the pier, now he’s too scared that someone from the crew might have the same idea as Jokaste. So, he’s doing exactly that -hiding in his room like a coward- when Auguste walks through the door as if he owns every inch of the building. (Technically, he does.) It takes Laurent a while to realise that he’s really there, that he’s not imaging him standing there in all his golden, pissed off glory. When he finally decides that he hasn’t gone that mad yet, and that Auguste really is in front of him, it’s anticlimactic. He just sits there, raises his head up and brings it back down again. Once again, he’s not deserving of this, he’s not deserving of looking his brother in the eyes after what he’s done. 

“I’m done.” Says Auguste and, this time, Laurent does look at him. Quickly. Worried, scared. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m done being mad at you. I let myself have a few weeks to digest all of this and to -to resent you, a little bit. Now I’m done and I want to know why.” 

And so, Laurent tells him why. He tells him everything, just like he has always done and always will. It’s Auguste, his big brother, his safe place and the only person who manages to get through Laurent’s defences and see him for what he really is: a scared boy with self-worth issues. He starts with the day at the art gallery and, once Damen’s name leaves his lips, he can’t stop. He goes on and on and Auguste keeps quiet, because he knows Laurent and he knows what he needs. Telling their story with a clear head is strange to say the least, it feels like the last weeks belong to someone else. Laurent catches himself analysing the entire situation, from the things he did wrong to the things he couldn’t have done better, like trusting Damen. Damen. He misses him, he tells Auguste exactly that. 

“Then go after him.” He says, gently. Laurent stares. 

“I can’t. He won’t want me again and I’m not good for him, I never was.”

“Laurent,” sighs Auguste and now he looks -he looks _angry_ , “I know dad did a number on you, as sure as I am that he loves you, he made mistakes. I know you struggle with your emotions, but listen to me when I tell you this, listen closely: you are one of the best men I’ve ever met, and I’m not saying that because you’re my brother. Yes, you’re smart as a fox and you’re beautiful but there is so much more to you. You are passionate, you are loyal, you are deserving. Damen clearly saw that, too, you know?” 

There are tears in Laurent’s eyes, tears he doesn’t shed. Auguste’s words are cutting deep, much deeper than he thought they ever could and, for once, he actually considers them. Is he really all of that? Is that what people see in him, along with his cold ways and cold heart? But no, no his heart is not cold, of that he’s sure. Not since Damen, maybe it never was. Maybe it was something Laurent convinced himself of, so that it could become an excuse to push people away. To avoid getting hurt. His heart has always been perfectly warm and perfectly functioning, red and beating and now it clenches. Hard. A reminder.

“Laurent,” says his brother again, eyes locked to his, “go get your man.” 

And so, Laurent does. 

***

He calls Nikandros because he can’t call Jokaste. No, they are too similar, two faces of the same coin and he’s done following her path. He won’t make the same mistakes she did. Nikandros answers on the third ring and silence stretches for a few second. Then, Nikandros says: “I didn’t know.” And Laurent says: “you were trying to protect him, I would have done the same.” And Nikandros tells him about their last performance, the performance of a lifetime as one last, hopeful strike against his father’s decision. They will dance at the docks, right when Aleron and his associates, the mayor and the press will give the green light to start the demolition. It’s risky, very risky, and might put them all in jail once and for all. It’s something Damen came up with, for sure. If he tries hard enough, Laurent can almost imagine him laying in his bed, weighing the pros and cons of this absurd idea that came to his mind. His crew would follow him to the ends of Earth. Laurent would as well. 

It’s the reason why he finds himself in a limousine, dressed to the nines with Auguste by his side and his father in front of him, headed to the docks. Headed to Damen. He told Auguste about was was to come, he didn’t tell his father. After this, after Aleron realises that Laurent knew about The Lions’ stunt, their relationship will be unfixable, Laurent is certain. That’s why he speaks up, when it’s just the three of them in the car, when it’s just family. He feels the absence of his mother like a weigh on his shoulders, right now more than ever. She would know how to speak to Aleron, she would lay a hand on his shoulder, reassuring, and tell him: “your son wants to tell you something, be gentle.” And his father would be, he would listen. His mother is not here, though, Auguste looks at him with her eyes, but she’s not here. 

“Dad,” says Laurent, voice small. He hasn’t called him that in a long, long time. His father’s head snaps up, he is surprised, too. It takes Laurent a while to get the words out, a matter of pride as much as it is a matter of fear. “I’m sorry.” 

There, it’s done. Laurent breathes out, shaky. Aleron looks at him for what feels like an eternity, he looks and looks and looks and then he turns his head to the window. He doesn’t say a thing, he doesn’t look back. Besides Laurent, Auguste stills. 

“ _Dad_.” He says, imploring. 

“Hush, Auguste. It’s not the time.” 

Laurent feels the weight on his shoulders drop to his chest, so heavy it might crush him, he hasn’t felt like this since the first time his father told him that dancing wouldn’t take him anywhere. It hurts to breathe, but he doesn’t have time. No, this was expected, he should have known better. What he needs to focus on right now is Damen, he has to try and ask for his forgiveness and hope Damen will grant it to him. Hope that he might realise the things Laurent said were a product of his insecurity and his fear, fear of being used and getting his heart broken. 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts as the car comes to a halt. Auguste nudges Laurent’s thigh with his own, an encouraging smile on his face. 

“You can do this.” He says.

The thing is, Laurent doesn’t even know what ‘this’ is. What is he supposed to do, talk to Damen? It won’t be enough, Laurent is good with words only when they serve as weapons, only when they’re meant to hurt. He won’t know what to say and anxiety will catch up to him and he’ll end up standing there with his mouth open and no words. There is also the fact that he might not even make to Damen, if this all goes wrong the police might take The Lions away before Laurent gets a chance to even show Damen he’s here. God, there are so many things that could go wrong, so many question marks. He nods to Auguste even as dread pools in his stomach, opens the car door and steps out. 

The docks are littered with piled crates and storages, yellow and red and green. It’s odd, Laurent expected to be greeted with grey and grey and grey, but this is something else entirely. He can see them, The Lions dancing in here, the choreography would be spectacular. He wishes he could be a part of it. It’s hot, sweat gathers at the back of his neck as he stands next to Auguste and his father, listening to the mayor’s speech, something about new beginnings and flourishing economy. Laurent doesn’t hear a word, he’s too busy keeping an eye on the shadow behind one of the storages, it jumps from a crate to another, so fast and stealthy it’s almost invisible. As the mayor’s speech comes to an end, the first notes of a song ring through the air. Laurent smiles. 

They come out all at once, a lot of them. It’s not just The Lions, it’s every street crew in Ios and even more, it’s so many dancers jumping out of boxes and over crates all around the docks. It’s madness, it’s beautiful. Besides Laurent, his father stills. Laurent can feel his stare, can feel those blue eyes on him, accusing and maybe even betrayed, once again. He can’t find the strength to care, though, not for now, not when all these dancers start moving completely synchronised. It’s an army with no guns, and they’re marching to the rhythm of a hip-hop song. They look incredible up there, so full of energy that Laurent fears they might start emitting electric charges. His heart is pumping in his chest and he _longs_ , he longs to be with them, to be at the centre right next to Damen as they conquer the docks inch by inch. He’s there, he sees him clear as day because, this time, they aren’t wearing masks. He’s there in his tank top and jeans and he moves like no one ever will, like a lion. 

It doesn’t feel like it did at Auguste’s party, the vibes the crews are giving off are charged and determined but they aren’t scary. No, these people are _having_ _fun_. And they look like it. Divided into groups, one passes the torch to another, a chain reaction so well executed that it makes Laurent’s whole body tingle. When they reunite, on the ground as one, Damen is at the front. Right in the middle, a true born leader. They all follow him like moths to a flame and he knows how to make them all shine. The choreography is complicated and various, accommodating every style and every talent. It should be a mess but, somehow, it isn’t. The gears of a well oiled machine is what Laurent had called The Lions when he saw them dance for the first time, this is the exactly same thing, only amplified tenfold. It leaves him breathless, speechless and it’s obvious that this incredible performance isn’t affecting only him. Auguste himself looks amazed, the people gathered here, the citizens, are staring in awe at the spectacle in front of them. It must mean something, these looks, the admiration... it _must_ make a difference. 

It does. When it’s over, when the dancers are left breathing hard and smiling big, the police stays put. One of Laurent’s father’s associates says something, gives some kind of order, but no one moves. They are so many, so many dancers who protested with their bodies and their passion, so many dancers who managed to make all these people feel. Nobody dares move a muscle until cheers explode, then people start shouting compliments and laughing and hooping and _aahing_. They clap and run to the dancers to congratulate them and everyone looks just so happy. In the midst of it all, Laurent feels anchored to the pavement. There’s chaos all around him, people moving in and out of his vision and the only person he can see is Damen. In the middle of the crowd, accepting fond pats on his back and smiles and kisses and he looks so happy. Laurent can’t do this, he can’t ruin this for him, he can’t march there and see Damen’s smile inevitably deem. 

He’s about to leave when he hears it. Later, he’d learn it was Nikandros who went to Kastor and told him what to do. Now, with his back to the party and his heart broken in two, he stops dead in his tracks. 

_There is a house built out of stone, wooden floors, walls and window sills._

The breath gets knocked out of him. It’s their song. It’s the song they were supposed to dance to together for Laurent’s audition and it brings the memories back in a flash. Dancing on the shore, water splashing and Damen laughing. Damen hauling him up across his shoulder and throwing him in the water. Making love, slow and hot and languid in his car, the ocean shining with the colours of dusk in front of them. It’s almost enough to make him cry, it’s definitely enough to make him take off his jacket and his shoes. He is right, words will never be enough. He has learn that dancing will always be his way of expressing himself, of letting go of his emotions and let people see. See his talent, see him. The real Laurent. He turns around, the people have quieted down, probably because hearing such a slow, intimate song after the beat of the performance served as some kind of shock. They’re all quiet and still, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Laurent. Waiting for Laurent and Damen. This is the only thing he can do, his last hope, the only way to let Damen know. Know what? Know everything, know how he feels, know about those three words he never had the courage to say, know about his guilt and his regret.

He takes a step forward. Then another, and another and another one until he’s standing in front of Damen. His heart is beating so fast and hard that he’s afraid all these people might hear it. A timed _ba_ - _dump_ out of sync with the gentleness of this song. Before him, Damen looks confused. And shocked. And hurt. Laurent can feel his face crumble, he has no idea about what his expression might be. He extends a hand and time stretches. Thin. 

_This is a place where I don’t feel alone, this is a place where I feel at home._

Damen takes it. He smiles, wary but warm. So, so warm. They dance. 

It does feel like coming home, stepping into those arms, letting himself be led. Giving up control, his body leaning on Damen’s, trusting him to hold him up, to catch him and carry him. Trusting him with his body, yes, and trusting him with his heart even more. He’s dancing everything he couldn’t say, he can’t take his eyes off Damen who, for his part, is looking at him with an intensity that might set them both on fire. They move and they can’t let go of each other, Damen’s hands on his waist aren’t weighting him down, they’re helping him up and up and up until he touches the sky. Until he’s so far for the ground that a crash might kill him. But he won’t crash, Damen will be there to catch him. Damen _is_ there to catch him and look at him as if he’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. With his kind eyes and his reassuring steps, he guides Laurent in this _pas de deux_ and he doesn’t let go, not for one second. 

Eventually the music dies down and Laurent doesn’t even hear it. They’re close, so close they could be one. Bodies interlocked and foreheads touching, lips a breath away. Laurent can’t help himself, he smiles. He smiles so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyelids flutter close and tears pool in his eyes. Damen kisses him, then. Hard and passionate and long. It does feel like coming home. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” bubbles on Laurent, lips touching Damen’s with every word, “I’m sorry, I’m-“

Damen shuts him up with another kiss, this time Laurent is back enough to himself to register the shouts and whistles from the crowd. He feels his cheeks flush, Damen looks down at him so fondly his heart skips one beat. 

“I know.” He whispers. 

***

They part, inevitably, some time later. The Lions come up to Laurent with apologies and threats to never treat Damen like that again, Laurent can’t stop smiling. They’re all here and they’re his family, a second family that he chose for himself. A second family that shares his dreams and his passion and his love for Damen. He is happy, he can finally admit to himself that he is happy. Taking a risk has never felt so worth it, so gratifying. This summer in Ios changed his perspective, it changed his life, it opened his mind to new horizons. And Laurent is happy, he is so, so happy. 

As he stands there hand in hand with Damen, complimenting the other dancers, a hand settles heavy on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know who it belongs to. Damen notices as well, he lets go of Laurent’s hand and gives it a squeeze, _you can do it._  Laurent has never noticed how much he and Auguste are alike. He takes a deep breath and turns around. His father looks as composed and stony as always, not a hair out of place, not a single dent in his armour. Until he speaks. 

“You know, I used to go to the studio with your mother sometimes. I can’t dance to save my life, but she always insisted I danced with her. I knew I had fallen for her the first time I saw her on the stage,” there is a pause, “you move in the same way she did.”

For the first time since he was a child, Laurent sees vulnerability on his father’s features. He doesn’t say a word, he’s afraid that his father might cower like a spooked animal if he hears a sound from Laurent. But Aleron continues and Laurent’s throat closes up.

“You look so much like her. When she died-” he stops himself short, takes a deep breath, “sometimes I can’t even look at you, it hurts too much.” 

Laurent wants to cry. Then, “I hadn’t seen you smile like that in a long, long time son.” 

That night, Aleron calls the whole deal off. 


End file.
